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It didn’t take long before the usual drunken bullshit started up. Dare or forfeit. Forfeit invariably involves necking down some alcoholic monstrosity and dare invariably involves fucking about with women.
I made it pretty damn clear I wouldn’t be joining in.
Theo’s dare was a piece of piss. Snog some random at his table. The girl didn’t even pretend to object, slobbering his face off while he copped a good grope of her ass for the privilege. Riley’s dare gave him sixty seconds to get a girl to flash her tits for the boys. He managed it with twenty seconds left on the clock. Then came Powell’s dare. Powell’s good for anything, crazy bastard.
Theo surveyed the crowd, scoping out a challenge. My stomach hit on the floor when he pointed it out.
“There,” he laughed. “Chubby red strutting her stuff on the dance floor. Fuck her in the toilets and bring us her knickers.”
Powell grinned his head off. “Not into fat girls, mate. Pick again.”
The table stamped their feet.Forfeit, forfeit, forfeit,but Powell put his hands up.
“Alright, alright. Chubby it is.” He skulked away, heading for an oblivious Gemma while my fists twitched at my sides.
“Show’s over,” I said. “Training on Monday, you’ve all had enough.”
“Only just getting started,” Theo laughed.
“Show’s fucking over, Fernandez,” I snapped. “I fucking mean it. This shit’s going too far.”
I made my way towards the dance floor, but Winstanley blocked my way, necking champagne from the bottle. The drunk prick was stumbling about the place; obscuring my view of the dancefloor and spouting barely-audible drivel. I struggled to get away, palming him off onto Danny Fieldman on his way back from the toilets.
I made an escape to the shadows at the side of the DJ booth for a better vantage point, scanning the dance floor for my dirty girl and that stupid asshole Powell. If he touched her, I’d rip his fucking spleen out. And yet I was fucking hard. Hard at the thought of him pounding her soft, wet pussy in the club toilets.
Shit.
My eyes followed Powell, tracking him across the room. He was dancing with a leggy brunette, mission potentially aborted. I’d only just caught sight of Gemma when a hand grabbed at my arm.
“Looking for me?” The voice was giggly and drunk, cutting above the thud of the bass like chalk on metal.
I stared in horror as Gemma’s blonde friend grinned up at me.
“Outside earlier? You asked for me.”
“You seemed to be having some problems,” I grunted.
She twirled a wisp of hair around her finger. “My friend had the problems.” She gestured in Gemma’s direction. “They wouldn’t let her in. She’s not really cut out for this kind of place, you know?”
That strange irritation again, right in the pit of my stomach.
She pouted a stupid duck face. “We could go somewhere, if you like, and I could, um, show you how thankful I am.”
“No thanks necessary.” I turned away enough to give a hint, but she followed, angling herself between me and the dance floor.
“I can be discreet... we could get a hotel... go to mine...”
“Thanks but no thanks,” I said, politely. “I’m heading home soon.”
She looked like I’d slapped her, a slack expression of wide-eyed disbelief. “I’ll really make it worth your while, Jason. I promise.” She leaned in to run a hand up my arm.
Jesus.My eyes flitted to Gemma. Still a mass of bodies between her and Powell.
I took Blondie’s knuckles and gave them a squeeze. “You have a nice evening, sweetheart.”
I stepped away, but she wouldn’t let up. “Wait, I mean, um, you asked for me... I thought...”
“I’m sorry you thought,” I said. “I was just trying to help.”
